A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. . ’ ‘Yes, but I’m afraid I am far too interested to stop mixing myself in your affairs,’ Gerald said ruefully. . She looked, Dorothée said, just as she always looks. " Something in the child's voice, something in her manner, warned the spinster that her well-meaning inquisitiveness had received a set-back and that it would be dangerous to press it forward again. If I told you the facts, I expect, since you are in love with me, you’d explain the whole business as being very fine and honorable for me—the Higher Morality, or something of that sort. ’ ‘Lucky indeed,’ answered Gerald, glancing at the pair again. "He thwarted my schemes twice.
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